Love is a Game of Give and Take
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Connor's crew knows he needs some time to relax. So they force him to take some time off to unwind.


He doesn't like working with his "father," and he says that with hesitance because he knows that blood bonds are not the same as familial bonds. Still, he'll help him, because that's what he does, and he wants some sort of guidance, someone to help him through and his shipmates at the camp since they decided they had to come with for one reason or another. They came with him, two of them, for some reason-he doesn't know-but he's grateful, because they've kept Haytham off his back, even though they insist they haven't even talked to the man. He's tired and perhaps he doesn't agree with his father, and his father has him by his toes, but that's fine for right now, because right now he's relaxing.

So he turns back to the Pinto mare, Rain (his father picked the name out), who is nipping at his clothes and demanding his attention. He laughs, something that sounds thoroughly strange to his ears, and makes a swipe at her snout, dancing back a distance when she snorts, paws the ground, and charges at him a little bit. He rolls out of her way, popping back up to his feet and dashing away, leading her on a chase over the grounds of what will undoubtedly be a battlefield. She whinnies and chases him around, and when she does catch him, he does a partial roll, landing on his back and sprawling out in the grass, closing his eyes to the beautiful blue sky and white clouds.

He tries not to laugh when he feels Rain's nose prodding him in the stomach, tries not to let his lips curl into a smile, tries not to breath in too deeply and let her know that he's not actually asleep or dead. So he tries his damnedest, feeling the sun on his face and Rain poking his chest now, nudging his legs, and he laughs a little, causing her to snort, tug hard on his pant leg, and then trot around him in a circle. He opens his eyes and takes her face in his hands when he feels her lean in close, blocking the sun, and kisses her nose. A breeze catches his hair and her mane, and he presses his forehead against hers, stroking gently. It's been a long time since he's been able to have a little bit of time to himself.

He knows his crew is doing everything they can to keep Haytham away. They're good about that. At first, he thought that they were just fussing too much, over-worrying for his sake, but then that dog had appeared aboard the ship, and he had too much restless energy that night, and they had caught him sleeping with the pup the next morning after playing with it all night. They also started sending someone with him everywhere, regardless of his orders, and while at first it was annoying, he was grateful now because there was nothing like a sailor to keep people away. He always had things to do, but his crew was looking after him. He would argue he didn't need it, but perhaps he enjoyed the alone time, the "play time," a little more than he should with so much to do. Although his crew seemed too willing to indulge him, or force him, to have a little bit of fun (and he says "force" because he never went into it willingly when he should be doing something else).

Rain knickers softly, pulling away, and he tugs gently at her mane before flopping back in the grass, watching her prance around him and pull up mouthfuls of grass to fling onto him. He growls softly, listening to her teasing whinny in return before he gets up, shakes off like a wolf, and gives chase again, catching her when she slows down and hopping on her back before she tries to buck him off.

It's all a part of their game together.

He's a lucky man to have a crew so willing to take care of him and keep his father away if not just for a few brief moments.

However, in the exciting shimmer of his playtime, he doesn't see his father standing at the edge of the camp with one of the soldiers beside him. He doesn't see the tense posture, the frown that tells him he should be doing something more worthwhile than playing. He doesn't see the hands clenching and unclenching behind his father's back or how much he wants to yell to summon him over. He doesn't see his crew a few feet away, getting ready to intervene.

"Shouldn't you call him over now, sir?" the soldier says.

Haytham continues to watch him play with the mare, acting every bit like the wild child the Indians were perceived to be. He frowns again, not bothering to look at the man beside him.

"Of everything I will take from him," he starts, biting his tongue briefly to keep from yelling out when Connor gets bucked off Rain, laughing, and then continues, "I will not take this from him."

"That is hardly age-appropriate," the soldier says.

And Haytham looks away from the scene, like something out of a story book for children, turns away from the scene, as if he can't stand to watch it happen, and moves away from the edge, as if he never saw it happen.

"Quite the contrary, soldier," he mutters, brushing past the insufferable crew of Connor's. "It's quite age appropriate for a teenage boy to be an idiot."


End file.
